My Bra is Burning

There's all sorts of bras on the market these days. Ultra support, serious padding, ones that stick on with glue, and the ever faithful nipple tape for when you want to go out just in your undies.

But at the moment my bra is burning, and not because Im a raving feminist from 1968.

Take a look at these photos on the right. See those sisters up the top from the 1970's rallying to make abortion legal, and to fight the system for more women's rights, I wonder how they feel about Girls Gone Wild?

And check out the ladies down the bottom. Bless them. Lining the streets with their fancy hats, corsets and cotton gloves. Holding up signs for Votes For Women. Baking scones on their way home.

But my personal favourite is the one in the middle. I do wish I knew her name. Just take a look. She's being arrested for protesting for women's sufferage. Probably spent more than one night in a dark, cold prison cell on less than bread and water. All for our liberation.

My bra is burning.

Come on Girls. Wake Up. Its all about how we sell our booty.

YOU CANT ASK YOUR MAN TO DEFINE YOUR WOMANHOOD YOU MUST DO IT YOURSELF.

The Girls have Gone Wild

I was at work a few days ago, making myself a cup of tea when the 18 year old receptionist came in.

'How was your weekend?' she asked. 'I got so drunk. Omigod I was so drunk. I went out to Black Betty's and I was wearing this top that had these strips that went over my boobs and my boobs fell out. Three times. I had hickey's on my tits when I got home. From chicks! I had lipstick all over my boobs. I was soooo hungover. '

That's right. Girls Gone Wild had hit my suburban office.

It could just be that Im of another generation, or it could just be that I might be cranky about being post feminist but this poor bitch is post, post feminist, and maybe that is worse.

My grandma would say 'What is the world coming to' or maybe 'Get that Mary Magdalene out of here', but Im writing this blog because this morning tea episode was the very prompt that started me writing. What are women coming to? Im no grandma, but the Girls really have Gone Wild.

BOOTY BOX

According to history a woman's reproductive organs had the nickname 'the Money Box'. As the urban myth goes, this is how we got our booty, with our sex.

That is, your husband chose you based on your social status & your beauty. And this would determine how lucrative your career would be.

Ive been thinking about this. Im wondering how much the story has actually changed. Ok, so we are three to four decades down the trail since women's liberation, yet despite the fact that a woman can choose not to become an instant 50's housewife, do we still use our sex to get us through life?

More importantly, I am asking, is this how we make a living, is our sex for sale?